“Now, by God, if you think I’m going to stand—Let me tell you right now, you’ve got the filthiest mind I ever heard of, Shallard! Why you should think I intend for one single second to be anything but friendly and open and aboveboard with Lulu—with Miss Bains—Why, you fool, I was in there listening about how she was in love with a fellow and he’s gone off to Chicago and chucked her, and that was all, and why you should think—”
“Oh, don’t be so fatheaded, Gantry! You can’t get away with sitting in my room at the Sem boasting, you and Zenz boasting about how many affairs you’ve had—”
“Well, it’s the last time I’ll sit in your damned room!”
“Splendid!”
“Think what you want to. And go to the devil! And be sure and run tattling to Pop Trosper and the rest of the faculty!”
“Well, that’s a good comeback, Gantry. I may do just that. But this evening I’ll just watch Lulu—watch Miss Bains for you. Poor sweet kid that she is! Nice eyes!”
“Uh-huh, young Shallard, so you’ve been smelling around, too!”
“My God, Gantry, what a perfect specimen you are!”
VI
Deacon and Mrs. Bains—an angry-faced, generous, grasping, horsy, black-mustached man he was, and she a dumpling—managed to treat Frank and Elmer simultaneously as professors of the sacred mysteries and as two hungry boys who were starved at Mizpah and who were going to catch up tonight. Fried chicken, creamed chipped beef, homemade sausages, pickles and mince pie in which Elmer suspected, and gratefully suspected, the presence of unrighteous brandy, were only part of the stout trencher-work required of the young prophets. Mr. Bains roared every three minutes at the swollen and suffering Frank, “Nonsense, nonsense, Brother, you haven’t begun to eat yet! What’s the matter with you? Pass up your plate for another helpin’.”
Miss Baldwin, the spinster, two other deacons and their wives and a young man from a nearby farm, one Floyd Naylor, were present, and the clergy were also expected to be instructive. The theories were that they cared to talk of nothing save theology and the church and, second, that such talk was somehow beneficial in the tricky business of enjoying your sleep and buggy-riding and vittles, and still getting into heaven.
“Say, Brother Gantry,” said Mr. Bains, “what Baptist paper do you like best for home reading? I tried the Watchman Examiner for a while, but don’t seem to me it lambastes the Campbellites like it ought to, or gives the Catholics what-for, like a real earnest Christian sheet ought to. I’ve started taking the Word and Way. Now there’s a mighty sound paper that don’t mince matters none, and written real elegant—just suits me. It tells you straight out from the shoulder that if you don’t believe in the virgin birth and the resurrection, atonement, and immersion, then it don’t make no difference about your so-called good works and charity and all that, because you’re doomed and bound to go straight to hell, and not no make-believe hell, either, but a real gosh-awful turble bed of sure-enough coals! Yes, sir!”
“Oh, look here now, Brother Bains!” Frank Shallard protested. “You don’t mean to say you think that the Lord Jesus isn’t going to save one single solitary person who isn’t an orthodox Baptist?”
“Well, I don’t perfess to know all these things myself, like I was a high-toned preacher. But way I see it: Oh, yes, maybe if a fellow ain’t ever had a chance to see the light—say he was brought up a Methodist or a Mormon, and never heard a real dyed-in-the-wool Baptist explain the complete truth, then maybe God might forgive him ’cause he was ignorant. But one thing I do know, absolute: All these ‘advanced thinkers’ and ‘higher critics’ are going to the hottest pit of hell! What do you think about it, Brother Gantry?”
“Personally, I’m much inclined to agree with you,” Elmer gloated. “But, anyway, we can safely leave it to the mercy of God to take care of wobblers and cowards and gasbags like these alleged advanced thinkers. When they treacherously weaken our efforts at soul-saving out here in the field, and go in for a lot of cussing and discussing and fussing around with a lot of fool speculation that don’t do anybody any practical good in the great work of bringing poor sufferin’ souls to peace, why then I’m too busy to waste my time on ’em, that’s all, and I wouldn’t care one bit if they heard me and knew it! Fact, that’s the only trouble with Brother Shallard here—I know he has the grace of God in his heart, but he will waste time worrying over a lot of doctrines when everything’s set down in Baptist tradition, and that’s all you need to know. I want you to think about that, Frank—”
Elmer had recovered. He enjoyed defying lightning, provided it was lightning no more dynamic than Frank was likely to furnish. He looked at Frank squarely. … It was perhaps half an hour since their talk in the bedroom.
Frank opened his mouth twice, and closed it. Then it was too late. Deacon Bains was already overwhelming him with regeneration and mince pie.
VII
Lulu was at the other end of the table from Elmer. He was rather relieved. He despised Frank’s weakness, but he was never, as with Eddie Fislinger, sure what Frank would do or say, and he determined to be cautious. Once or twice he glanced at Lulu intimately, but he kept all his conversation (which, for Lulu’s admiration, he tried
